


Little Lion Man

by edema_ruh



Series: Spider and Iron [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Also for Peter and for Happy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxious Tony Stark, Arc Reactor, Blood, Caring Tony Stark, Character Study, Dad!Tony, Dad!Tony Stark, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Guilty Happy Hogan, Guilty Tony Stark, Honestly I feel so bad for Tony in this one, Hospitals, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I feel bad for everyone why did I write this, Injury, Mentions of Afghanistan, PTSD Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, Shrapnel - Freeform, Spider-Man: Homecoming AU, Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, everything works out in the end though, injured Peter parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12607616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: When the Vulture's wings explode, Peter gets hit by shrapnel and finds himself in need of immediate medical assistance. He calls Happy for help, but as usual, the guy doesn't answer his phone.Tony doesn't react well when he hears about what happened, mainly for two reasons:1 - He blames himself for taking Peter's suit away, which directly resulted on him getting injured.2 - Knowing that Peter was hit by shrapnel, of all things, makes him scared that Peter may end up becoming too much like him.





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags!

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

Hey, Happy, it’s me. Uh, Peter. I, I just wanted to let you know that I caught the vulture guy. Well. I mean, he was trying to steal Mr. Stark’s plane, and I stopped him – you guys should really try and improve the security, by the way, what _was_ that about? –, but his… argh, sorry, I just need a minute. His, h-his wings, they, they blew up, there was nothing I could do. I was really lucky to find his phone intact, but I… I don’t know if he’s… Just, just call me. Please. It’s kind of important. Oh, and it’s Peter. Parker. _Beep._

-

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

Hi Happy, P-Peter again. I really need you to pick up. Everything is on fire and I ran out of web fluid. Sorry, not everything is on fire, Mr. Stark’s stuff is safe, well… mostly. Sorry about that. Thing is, I think I may have been hit by some shrapnel or something when the Vulture’s wings blew up, and I wouldn’t w-want to frighten May by showing up home like this. I mean, I could usually take care of this m-myself, but it’s kind of c-cold and I don’t really have a ride because the car is ruined. Even if it wasn’t ruined it is still too far away from here, hah. Figured you are still around the Stark Tower or something? M-maybe you could give me a ride? Give me a call when you can, man. It’s Peter here. _Beep_.

-

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

H-h-hey H-Happy, it’s m-me again. Please p-pick up. I know I screwed up, o-okay? I didn’t mean t-to. I was j-just trying to p-p-prove myself to Mr. Stark. I understand why he t-took the suit away and I’m s-sorry. I d-d-don’t want him to give it b-back, I p-promise these calls are n-not about this. I just – I think I may need some h-help. I tried getting back to the warehouse b-but I don’t think I can make it. I’m f-freezing and my head h-hurts and I really d-don’t want to die out here, Happy. P-please pick up. It’s Peter. _Beep_.

-

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

H-hey Happy. U-uh, you on your way yet? I c-couldn’t get too f-far but I m-managed to restrain the Vulture s-somehow. It was really t-tricky but there was still s-some web fluid I c-could use. He won’t get away this t-time, don’t worry, H-Happy, I got him. You can tell Mr. Stark h-his stuff is safe. I’m sorry, I really d-don’t think I can make it t-to the warehouse. I n-need a hand here. I’m so cold. I should be healing by now, r-right? I s-should be… I should… _Beep._

-

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

Sorry, phone slipped off m-my hand. I think there’s something wrong, t-there’s something wrong with m-my… I… o-oh, crap, that’s a lot of blood. Please don’t tell May about this, she’d b-be so worried. Promise me you won’t tell May… _Beep._

-

                _You have reached the voicemail of: Happy Hogan. Beep._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Beep._

-

Fire. That was the first thing Happy saw, from the distance, and annoyance blossomed inside his chest only to replace the feeling of dread that had been overcoming him ever since he spotted the Stark plane falling down from the sky. He set his foot harder against the pedal to increase the speed of his car, which was being followed closely by several others that were under Tony’s service. They would need _a lot_ of personnel in order to recover everything Tony had demanded to be stocked inside that plane, especially with the amount of fire that seemed to be quickly engulfing the boxes. Happy didn’t bother to pick up his phone, which seemed to be buzzing madly inside of his pocket, because there were way more important matters he had to deal with right now and having Peter Parker’s nerdy friends calling him to chat was not on his top priority list. He didn’t even know how that weird boy who was a friend of Peter’s had gotten his number, but he would have a serious talk with the Spider-Kid as soon as he got rid of all that mess. The kid couldn’t go around giving Happy’s phone number to anyone he saw fit; what would come next? Giving Tony Stark’s personal number to a date in order to impress them? Showing the silly vlogs he insisted on recording to his class as a school project? He sighed, shaking his head in reprimand. Peter might be just a kid, but it was about time he got used to the importance of privacy.

Happy didn’t bother to close the car’s door behind him as soon as he hopped off, grabbing his torch and signaling for the closest personnel to follow him instead. Useful as ever, they had fire extinguishers and special gadgets that Happy didn’t bother to try and make sense of, and they were quick to get to work as soon as they approached the nearest boxes scattered on the sand. Happy, however, didn’t pay it any attention to it, and left the staff to do their job at recognizing and recollecting Tony’s things, since he had spotted something much more disturbing a few feet away. The ex-boxer wearily approached some boxes that had been gathered together into a pile by someone, and he could feel his jaw drop open in surprise as he found an unknown man held stuck against the wooden surface by… a web.

The man looked tired, injured and extremely pissed off by being caught in that situation. He looked up at Happy with a scornful expression, almost as if he instantly despised him. He winced slightly when Happy aimed his torch at his face so that he could get a better look at this unknown man. Taking a look around, Happy spotted a large metal wing lying several feet away on the sand, broken and still fuming hot. Looking back at the man, and gazing deep into his angry, resentful eyes, a realization dawned upon Happy. This must be the Vulture. This must be the man Peter had been rambling and complaining about non-stop for the past week, the one who sold weaponized alien technology, the one who Tony had warned the FBI about.

 It had been the _kid_. Someone had clearly stopped Tony’s plane from being robbed and hijacked and that someone had been _Peter Parker._ He immediately fished his phone out of his pocket to call Tony, but found himself blinking in surprise at his home screen. There were six missed calls accompanied by six voicemails, but what surprised him the most was the fact that these calls hadn’t been made from the previous number that’d called him, which meant they hadn’t been from Peter’s nerdy friend as Happy had assumed. Sparing the man trapped by the webs one last look, and signaling for one of the staff members to keep an eye on him, Happy stepped away to listen to his voicemail.

_“Hey, Happy, it’s me. Uh, Peter. I, I just wanted to let you know that I caught the vulture guy. Well. I mean, he was trying to steal Mr. Stark’s plane, and I stopped him – you guys should really try and improve the security, by the way, what was that? –, but his… argh, sorry, I just need a minute. His, h-his wings, they, they blew up, there was nothing I could do. I was really lucky to find his phone on the debris, but I… I don’t know if he’s… Just, just call me. Please. It’s kind of important. Oh, and it’s Peter. Parker.”_

Shit.

Peter sounded shaky and weak, as if he was trying his best to use a steady tone even though he couldn’t. There was something wrong about his tone; his voice sounded almost constricted and this sent an unwanted jolt of worry through Happy. He pressed a button to listen to the next message.

_“Hi Happy, P-Peter again. I really need you to pick up. Everything is on fire and I ran out of web fluid. Sorry, not everything is on fire, Mr. Stark’s stuff is safe, well… mostly. Sorry about that. Thing is, I think I may have been hit by some shrapnel when the Vulture’s wings blew up, and I wouldn’t w-want to frighten May by showing up home like this. I mean, I could usually take care of this m-myself, but it’s kind of c-cold and I don’t really have a ride because the car is ruined. Even if it wasn’t ruined it is still too far away from here, hah. Figured you are still around the Stark Tower or something? M-maybe you could give me a ride? Give me a call when you can, man. It’s Peter here. Beep.”_

Oh, God.

“Keep an eye on that man and don’t let him get away under any circumstances!” Happy instructed the two men who had taken guard beside the Vulture, pointing a finger at two other staff members. “You two, with me. And get medical, while you’re at it”. They promptly followed Happy while he frantically jogged around the boxes that were scattered across the sand, looking for any sign of Peter, phone glued to his ear as he continued to listen to his voicemails. His heart beat faster with each word he heard. _I think I may need some help. I’m freezing and my head hurts. I really don’t want to die out here. You on your way yet? That’s a lot of blood._

The absolute silence on the last voicemail was what worried Happy the most.

God. For all the brains this kid had, he was so _stupid_! How could he have gone and gotten himself into something like this? This whole airplane hijack situation was clearly way out of his league, especially _without_ the Spider-Man suit! He was supposed to help the little guys in New York, not to prevent multimillionaire planes from being hijacked! Was Peter’s urge to be a hero stronger than his self-preservation skills? Why didn’t he just do as he was told for once and stayed out of all this mess? Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Happy would rather have Tony’s plane robbed and lost his job over it than having this kid die over some stupid artefacts, as important as they could be.

“Split up and call everyone in. There’s a kid out here somewhere and he is injured, tell everyone it’s our top priority to find him!”, Happy instructed as loudly as he could, in order to address all the nearest personnel. They all nodded and began to pass the message around while Happy resumed his personal search. If Peter had been hit by shrapnel… Happy needed to find him. _Now_. After all, Happy Hogan worked for Tony Stark. If anyone knew the damage that shrapnel could do to a person’s life, that was him.

He unlocked his phone in order to Peter’s number and try to get a hold of him, only hoping that the kid would still be conscious enough to pick up his call. As he heard the mechanic ringing that seemed to last an eternity, Happy cursed himself all over again. He needed to reach Tony, and he needed to do it soon. He wasn’t sure he could handle this situation on his own.

“Over here!”, someone from the staff yelled, and Happy’s head immediately snapped towards the general direction of the voice. Someone must have found either Peter or his phone. Hopefully, both. Sharpening his ears, Happy could faintly make out the distant sound of a ringing cellphone.

Immediately turning around and jogging towards the staff member who was waving frantically at him, Happy reached the commotion faster than his health should have allowed him to. There were four people kneeling on the sandy floor, their crouching figures hiding Peter from Happy’s view as they fussed with the boy. Happy wasn’t having any of it. Nudging one of the men aside, he took his place and kneeled on the sand beside Peter, who seemed to be out cold.

The boy was as pale as Happy had ever seen him and his face was covered in bruises and blots of dried blood. His hair was matted with sand and blood and his lips were parted as if he was in deep sleep, which Happy could have mistaken it for, had the boy’s brow not been scrunched up in a pained expression. There was cold sweat appearing on his forehead and, looking further down in a full assessment of Peter’s injuries, Happy found two large pieces of metal protruding from the boy’s lower torso, piercing through his badly crafted uniform and carved deep into his flesh. It looked like pieces from the metal wing that Happy had found near the vulture. The shrapnel from the wings had probably hit him as they exploded, as Peter had deduced in the voicemail he left Happy. How the vulture himself had not died in the blast was beyond his comprehension. Peter had probably helped him out of the flames. The thought made Happy’s heart tighten in his chest.

“Where’s medical?” he asked one of the personnel without tearing his eyes away from Peter’s unconscious form.

“Five minutes away,” someone he didn’t bother to look at replied promptly.

Taking two fingers to Peter’s neck in order to feel his pulse, Happy sighed. It was more erratic than he would have liked, but it was there. Still, he seemed to be losing too much blood, if the sickening crimson pool appearing beneath him on the sand was anything to go by. They would have to stanch the bleeding somehow, before Peter lost too much.

“Stanch the bleeding. I have to call Tony and inform him of this”, he told a young staff woman who was kneeling beside him. She had been the one to find Peter and the first one to try and aid him. She nodded solemnly at Happy, removing her jacket and pressing it against Peter’s stomach, careful not to make the shrapnel sink deeper into his flesh. The boy let out a loud pained groan and squeezed his eyes shut, shifting on the floor in clear discomfort, only to open his wide, confused eyes a second later and look around with an unfocused gaze. He didn’t seem to be very aware of his surroundings or the people near him.

Instead of trying to bat away the hands that were pressing down on his wounds, Peter fussed on the sand until his hand found a cellphone that was lying forgotten beside him. He grabbed hold of it and raised it to his eyelevel with a trembling hand, weakly typing down on the screen. The action seemed to tire him down even further, and before anyone could remove the device from his hand in order to keep him from disrupting his injuries, his hand dropped heavily to the floor, and the device fell beside his head with a muffled sound.

That was when Happy’s phone started to ring.

Swallowing dry past the lump that appeared in his throat, Happy stared down at the screen, finding the number that was calling him to be the same one that Peter had been using. The kid was still trying to call him, completely unaware of Happy’s presence right beside him. Even as injured and miserable as he was, he was still trying to reach Happy. Suddenly, reaching Tony and catching him up on what had happened seemed like a less important task than comforting the poor boy who was clearly in pain in front of him. Happy owed him this much. He tossed his phone back into his pocket after declining Peter’s call and kneeled back beside the boy, holding his hand despite of all the blood that immediately seeped into his hand.

“C’mon, Happy… p-pick up,” Peter murmured in such a low tone that Happy wouldn’t have been able to hear the words had he not been right beside the boy. His eyes were still glassy and unfocused, pupils unevenly dilated and showing signs of a concussion. Add that to the list of the kid’s injuries. His head was turned so that he faced away from Happy, and he still didn’t seem aware of the ex-boxer’s presence. He also showed no signs of being aware that his hand was being held, which Happy found to be particularly worrying. His heavy eyelids started to droop closed.

“Hey, kid. I’m right here,” Happy squeezed Peter’s hand to call his attention, and that finally seemed to do the trick. The injured boy frowned slightly and turned his head towards the voice, blinking for more seconds than necessary in a meek attempt of recognition before a sluggish wide grin appeared on his pale lips.

“Hah. You listened t-to your voicemail,” he commented humorously, but his voice lacked its natural energy and he sounded more in pain than anything else. Happy did him the favor of smiling back, for once, even though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing on that situation.

“I always listen to my voicemails. It’s a job requirement, as unpleasant as it may be sometimes,” he said as nonchalantly as he could, even though his heart was beating fast with fear for the kid’s health. Peter smiled for a few more seconds before his lips relaxed and he went back to frowning.

“Wait… so does that mean…”

“Yes,” Happy raised an eyebrow at the boy.

“Oh, no,” Peter whispered weakly, closing his eyes. “You listened to everything?”

“Yes,” Happy sighed.

“Even the churro one?” Peter asked curiously.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Happy replied, attempting to play his usual annoyed façade. “Now keep your eyes open and stay awake. Help is almost here”.

“But you’re already here,” Peter mumbled sleepily, not reopening his eyes.

“I mean medical help, Peter. You’re in a pretty bad shape,” he squeezed the boy’s hand again, trying to keep him from falling asleep. He didn’t know the extent of the kid’s concussion, but as a former boxer, he was aware of how dangerous those could be. It would be safer to prevent Peter from falling asleep, at least until medical arrived.

“Mr. Stark will be pissed,” Peter mumbled, only paying half attention.

“Why would he? You saved all the technology from the Stark Tower from being stolen. If any of that had fallen into wrong hands…”, he trailed off, shaking his head. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what would have happened if something like Thor’s magic belt had fallen into their enemies’ hands. Peter had really saved the day, in many different ways.

Peter’s eyes suddenly snapped open and he looked around frantically, as if suddenly remembering something. He immediately attempted to sit up and yelped hoarsely in pain as the sudden movement disrupted the shrapnel in his torso.

“Hey, don’t move,” the woman putting pressure on Peter’s wounds instructed, holding him back down with a steady hand on his shoulder. Happy aided her by holding Peter’s other shoulder down against the sand, which was growing worryingly crimson from all the blood Peter was losing. “You have to stay still, darling”, she said gently, never ceasing to press down on Peter’s stomach.

“Mr. Toomes,” Peter groaned in discomfort and concern, looking intensely at Happy and grabbing at his forearm with a bruising strength, almost as if the man was a lifeline.

“Who?” Happy frowned, leaning closer to Peter in order to hear him better.

“The guy with the wings. The vulture guy,” Peter explained, voice constricted with pain and breathlessness. He seemed to be having trouble fighting the pain, which was completely understandable. He was only 15, and there were two large pieces of metal carved into his flesh. Happy was actually surprised that he was still awake, even with his increased healing factor. Happy wondered if removing the shrapnel would help Peter to heal himself faster, or if it would lead to a faster death due to blood loss. He decided he would stay on the safe side and not do anything until medical arrived, as much as it hurt him to see Peter, a usually cheery and easy-going fellow, in such pain. Risking this kid’s life further was not something he was willing to do.

“You know him?” Happy frowned, studying Peter’s pale face. He was more worried about Peter’s state than the words he was saying, but this sounded like important information. If Peter knew that man, then there was a good chance he had found out Spider Man’s secret identity. If that was the case, then they would have to be twice as careful about making sure that the Vulture would stay in jail. They couldn’t have him running around and threatening to hurt Peter again.

“He’s Liz’s father,” Peter croaked out. His breathing was uneven and frantic, and his eyes had gone back to squeezed shut in pain. Periodic, tiny huffs of pain constantly slipped past his lips, apparently against his will. His strong grip on Happy’s forearm was growing slacker with each panted breath he took in. Sharing a look with the woman from the staff, who was still pressing down on Peter’s injuries the best she could, Happy saw her shake her head. Peter was getting too worked up for someone sustaining injuries that severe. This wasn’t the best time to discuss the secret identity of the Vulture, as much as Happy wanted to make sure he knew every single thing there was to know about that man. Peter’s health had to be his first priority on that moment.

“Alright, we can talk about that later,” Happy said as soothingly as he could (which was not very soothing at all). “Right now you need to lie back and stay awake. The medical staff is almost here,” he took a look at his clock. One more minute to go. Just one more minute.

“Where is he?” Peter groaned, trying to keep a hold of Happy’s arm and failing. It felt almost as if he wanted to make sure the man was really there. His eyes were wide and unfocused, showing a sort of fear that was only visible in the face of a frightened kid.

“You caught him,” Happy explained patiently. “It’s ok. He won’t get away now. He’s safely restrained”.

With these words, Peter relaxed and fell back against the sand, the hand holding Happy’s arm going immediately slack and falling limply to the side. His eyes closed slowly and he let out a shaky breath before going completely limp. Another jolt of worry crossed Happy’s heart but, just as he was about to take Peter’s pulse again, the sound of rushed footsteps entered his ear range. He turned his head around to find the medical staff finally approaching them in a frantic run, a private ambulance parking as near as it could, given the fire and the debris that surrounded them.

“You’re going to be fine, kid”, Happy told Peter, allowing a sincerely relieved smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“’Kay, Happy”, Peter sighed, almost as if out of habit, right before slipping into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

He didn’t notice there was someone offering him coffee until whoever it was nudged him for the fourth time. He had been so lost in his thoughts and his fears that everything else around him had seem dull and unimportant. Turning his head to look who it was insistently bothering him, he found Happy holding a pair of fuming cups and a look that told Tony that he was probably zoning out again. Tony sighed and straightened himself on the chair, trying to make himself look as neutral as he could. It didn’t work out as well as he would have liked.

“Finally” he rolled his eyes, taking the coffee from Happy’s hand as impolitely as he could. “I thought you’d gotten lost in the _smallest hospital we managed to find_ ”, Tony scoffed without looking at his friend. He immediately gulped down half of the coffee, despite of the fact it was scolding. He could barely feel the hot, and the stinging sensation on his tongue didn’t really bother him. It felt almost like righteous punishment.

“The machine didn’t give change”, Happy explained with a sigh, taking the seat beside Tony in the waiting room. “I had to go all the way to the deli two blocks from here to buy it. I was lucky they were willing to make me these, given the time”, he gave a little wave with the coffee cup in his hand for emphasis.

“That explains why this tastes like bitter bean water”, Tony gave Happy an obnoxious, false smile for the fraction of a second before taking one last gulp of the coffee and throwing the still half-full cup on a nearby trashcan. Happy stared at him with disbelief and incredulity for a split second before his face fell in resignation.

“Next time you can feel free to go and buy it yourself”, he scoffed bitterly, taking a sip of his own coffee. It _did_ taste bad, but he wouldn’t give Tony the satisfaction of admitting that. “Use your suit, you’ll probably get there faster”.

At the mention of the word “suit”, the air grew tenser with anticipation. Happy could feel Tony stiffen on the seat beside him, and when he turned to look at his boss/friend, he found Tony staring straight ahead at the blank white wall of the hospital’s waiting room, arms crossed protectively above his chest. His face looked blank and impassive, as it always did whenever Tony was attempting to hide his emotions.

“I didn’t –“, Happy tried to apologize, feeling guilty, but Tony cut him off before he could have the chance.

“I know”, Tony said simply with a dismissive wave of hand. Even though he was sitting right behind him, Happy couldn’t quite see Tony’s eyes beneath the sunglasses he was wearing. Still, he could picture the look that would be haunting Tony’s eyes.

A long silence stretched between them, the only sound in the room being the eventual slurping Happy gave his coffee or the muffled sound of the TV in the corner. It should be around one a.m. As soon as Happy contacted Tony and told him what had happened, the billionaire dropped everything he had been doing and rushed to the hospital. When he arrived, Peter was still in surgery, but the hospital’s staff informed them that he was not under any risk. The kid should be fine, and that was good news enough. At least Tony didn’t have to worry about going to May and telling her that her nephew had died, after everything she had already gone through with her husband.

Still, the whole Tony-arriving-at-the-hospital had been a complete shit show. Happy made sure not to mention the word “shrapnel” when he called Tony to tell him about what happened to Peter, because he knew his boss and, most importantly, his friend, well enough to know what sort of reaction that word would earn. Still, there was no way he could postpone telling Tony about what had really happened, and Happy was sure the man would rather hear the news from him, a person who was close to Tony and knew how to handle his reaction, than from a random, unknown hospital staff member. And so Happy told him as soon as Tony arrived, stepping out from one of his many expensive cars which he didn’t bother parking. He told him about the Vulture, the plane hijacking and about the reason why Peter was undergoing surgery as they spoke.

The look on Tony’s face had been unforgettable, and Happy felt a twinge of guilt for being the one responsible for putting that look on his friend’s face. Another thing to add to his guilt list.

Tony had (understandably) freaked out upon hearing that Peter had been hit with _shrapnel_ , above all else. Not that a gunshot or a ton of concrete would have made him less worried about Peter – this kid was special to him –, but being hit by _shrapnel_ hit a little bit too close to home for Tony. Suddenly, breathing became the last of the billionaire’s concerns, thoughts of arc reactors and surgery and an Afghani cave rushing back into his head at full speed. He was aware that Happy was still talking to him, telling him something, but he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t breathe. The sound of his friend’s voice was muffled as if coming from underwater, and the ringing in Tony’s ears was all that he could make sense of. He was overwhelmed by memories of being awake during his own surgery, of having his head shoved into water until he lost consciousness, of staring down at a hole in his own chest, of carrying around a car battery, which was the only thing keeping him alive. All he could think about was how much he hated and loved the glowing reactor in his chest, how he loathed it for all the pain and discomfort it caused him and how he loved it for being the only thing keeping him from dropping dead at any given moment.

The thought of Peter needing to use an arc reactor made him nauseous and he ignored Happy’s unintelligible ranting in favor or rushing to the bathroom without saying a word.

Thankfully, he didn’t throw up (how embarrassing would that have been?), but he was hyperventilating enough to think it probable he was having a panic attack. Air wasn’t quite reaching his lungs and there was a dangerous tightening sensation inside his chest, suffocating him and only making him more desperate. All he could think about was Peter lying in a hospital bed, Peter dying, Peter having a hole drilled inside his chest cavity in order to have a reactor replace his heart. All he could think of was Peter becoming him, and the thought alone was enough to make tears surge up to his wide, terrified eyes.

“Jarvis, current heart rate?”, Tony instructed, speaking into the com of his wristwatch and hoping that the A.I. would know exactly what to do to snap him out of his crisis. He hated how shaky and terrified his own voice sounded in the empty bathroom.

“It’s Friday, sir”, the robotic female voice responded in his earpiece, and Tony silently closed his eyes, cursing himself for slipping like that again. He kept forgetting that Jarvis was gone, lost, along with almost everyone that mattered in his life. “And your heart rate is of 157 bpm. You are experiencing symptoms of a panic attack and it would be advisable for you to sit down and try to take deep breaths”.

“Wow, how helpful you are”, Tony rolled his eyes, running a hand down his face and obeying the A.I., despite of everything. He sat on the disgusting bathroom floor, his back leaning against the cold wall, which was the only thing currently anchoring him to reality.

“It would be advisable to take a deep breath every other eight –“, the A.I. continued, but Tony snapped.

“Yes, I know how it’s done, this isn’t my first time around the anxiety carousel”, he said bitterly, covering his face with both hands.

“I apologize if I was insensitive, sir”, Friday said, as nonchalantly as ever. At least Jarvis used to have the ~~programmed~~ decency of sounding upset whenever Tony was unnecessarily rude to him. Friday just sounded… mechanical. Almost resigned. “But it was you who designed me, after all”.

“Yeah, guess that’s on my bill, too”, Tony ended up whispering, even though he had intended to keep the thought to himself. “Everything always ends up being on me, doesn’t it?”

“Statistically –“, Friday begun, but with Tony’s harsh huff of breath, she cut herself off. “Oh, right. I’m still catching up on your sense of humor, sir”.

“I miss Jarvis”, he sighed sadly, uncovering his face and leaning his forearms on his knees, which were pulled to his chest. He was probably ruining his expensive suit by sitting on the dirty floor like that, but this was the last of his worries. “It didn’t take him this long to understand my jokes”.

“I’ll try to be better next time”, Friday promised. “Would you like me to give you a report of your location?”, she inquired.

“Yeah, go ahead baby doll”, Tony sighed, leaning his head back against the wall.

“You are currently at St. Joseph Hospital, in Hampstead, New York, United States, North America, planet Earth. It is 1:24 p.m. The weather is pleasant and there is no sign of raining for the next couple of days”, Friday told him. Tony nodded solemnly, recognizing that this type of report made him feel more secure. It made him feel sure that he wasn’t back in Afghanistan or at a wormhole leading to outer space.

“Heart rate?”, he asked.

“128 bpm, sir”, Friday said.

“That’s good enough”, Tony sighed in resignation.

That had been the moment when Happy knocked on the bathroom door, worried about how Tony had rushed away after hearing of Peter. Tony, not yet ready to be seen that vulnerable, instructed Happy to go buy themselves some coffee from where he was still sitting on the floor. Happy obliged, meaning to give Tony some space, since he was still clearly shaken about Peter being in surgery. Getting out of the bathroom had been embarrassing, but Tony was thankful that Happy was still gone buying them coffee when he returned to the waiting room. He was still attempting to calm himself down when Happy returned.

Now, as he sat silently beside Happy while they waited for news on the kid, Tony vaguely wondered if things would have happened differently had Peter been wearing his suit.

What was the point of him, if he couldn’t even protect this kid who dressed up as a spider and fought bad guys for the sake of the small people? What was the point of being a genius and a billionaire if he had deprived Peter from the one thing protecting him and allowed the boy to be struck by… by _shrapnel_. He didn’t want to think about that _word_ anymore. Thinking about that word made him think about Afghanistan, about the desert, about his own name turning against him and pushing him down a shithole of torture, pain and helplessness. Thinking about _shrapnel_ made him thing about the emptiness and the pain inside his chest, and about Yinsen, staring down at him with his hands covered in blood, his blood, as he opened Tony’s chest up while he was still awake and told him to calm down as he screamed in horror –

“What are you going to tell his aunt?”, Happy asked, noticing Tony was getting too caught up by his own thoughts. Tony blinked in confusion for a few seconds, returning to reality.

“Hm?” Tony responded absentmindedly, only half-acknowledging what Happy had said.

“His aunt”, Happy explained. “The kid begged me not to tell her about this. But I’m not sure he’s about to leave the hospital any time soon and there isn’t really any excuse for him to have been hit by shrapnel on Homecoming night, _or_ a reason why he was on the opposite side of the city”.

Tony sighed. Now there was _that_. Not only had the kid been injured while saving _his_ plane, he had been injured because _Tony_ had taken his suit away, and now there was the damn aunt. What was he supposed to tell her? “Hey, sorry I almost got your nephew killed in an accident involving a vulture-man and a robbery. He’s in the hospital right now, undergoing surgery. Have a nice day!”

“I’ll figure something out”, Tony said with disinterest, not wanting to think about that right now. He could figure that out later, when his chest felt lighter and his head felt clearer. There was a pregnant pause in which Happy waited for Tony to continue, but he never did. The driver sighed.

“Listen, I know you’re upset the kid got hurt –“

“I am not _upset_ ”, Tony interrupted in a rather obnoxious tone. He wasn’t doing _this_. He wasn’t discussing his feelings with Happy just because of a kid.

“Yes, you are”, Happy sighed as if arguing with a child. Thankfully, he was used to Tony’s stubbornness to know that he was, indeed, upset. He was just too stubborn to admit it.

“Why would I be upset?” Tony scoffed with fake disdain. “He’s alive, he’ll make a full recovery and he managed to stop me from being robbed, which _you_ failed to do, by the way. There is no reason for me to be upset, I’m just… thinking. About stuff”, Tony said dismissively, never turning to face Happy. It would be easier to shift the blame to Happy, to make him feel guilty about not stopping the hijacking of his plane, because that way Tony’s unbearable guilt would shift away from focus and stop being a subject of discussion. He didn’t want to talk about that. He didn’t want to talk about how Peter could have ended up dead because Tony, a billionaire, a super hero, a philanthropist, decided to deprive a poor kid who could barely make a living from the one thing protecting him. _He didn’t want to talk about that_. He was better off repressing it, as he always did. He had made out pretty well so far in his life.

With a sigh, Happy got to his feet and disposed of his empty cup of coffee. He didn’t feel like sitting down and waiting after everything they’d gone through that night, and Tony’s foul mood was not something he was willing to put up with after Peter almost died on him. His job was to make sure that the Stark possessions got to their destination safely, and as Tony had unkindly pointed out, he had failed, but that wasn’t the only failure bothering him. In fact, even though he was technically supposed to be overseeing the rearrangement and the new transportation of the boxes, that couldn’t be the farthest subject inside his head. No; all he could think about was the voicemails Peter had left him, desperately begging for help, so afraid and vulnerable in a way that the kid always tried to pretend he wasn’t. Peter was young, probably the youngest super-hero Happy knew, and thus he was always seen as a _kid_ , just as Happy himself insisted to call him. Because of this, he always tried to prove himself as something other than just a young boy that needed constant surveillance. To know that he had put down the “strong grown up” façade he always wore around Happy and Tony and allowed himself to be vulnerable broke Happy’s heart, not because of Peter’s vulnerability itself, but because he hadn’t _been_ there for him. Peter had begged him for help, and he simply dismissed his phone calls as if they were nothing. Happy couldn’t help but to imagine if that had been how Tony felt, when he was being tortured and beaten inside that cave, with no one to help him, no one to listen to him.

Just as Tony, Peter could have died. Peter could have _very well_ died if he hadn’t been found when he was, and that would have been Happy’s fault.

Tony must have finally realized, at the absence of any further insistence to share his thoughts, that Happy had been staring blankly at the trash can for too long. He shifted on his seat, studying his friend’s face and recognizing traces of the same guilt that he was feeling on Happy’s own. Happy, suddenly aware of the rare attention he was receiving from his boss, stood up and took the farthest seat possible from Tony, mimicking the millionaire’s habit of acting like a child throwing a tantrum and pushing people away. Tony rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the wall without saying a word. Not soon later, he fished his phone out of his pocket and started typing on the screen, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming weight on his shoulders and answering some emails and unattended business. Happy took advantage of Tony’s distraction and grabbed his own phone, staring at the notification that still warned him he had 6 missed calls. With a sigh, he swiped the notification away, dialing his voicemail instead.

He wasn’t quite sure what his intention was by calling the voicemail. He supposed he wanted to erase the messages Peter had left him, as he usually did after listening to them, but something felt wrong about that. He couldn’t just _erase_ the messages. They were personal, they were raw and filled with emotion and right now, they were the only contact Happy had with the kid. Erasing them felt like betraying Peter’s trust. His voice, as shaky and weak and frightened as it was, was a reminder that Peter was still alive, he had overcome everything that had happened to him. His voice was also the reminder of what Happy had allowed him to endure when he chose not to pick up any of his calls. He had been so caught up in his regret that he didn’t notice Tony was turned on his chair, staring at him again, phone nowhere to be seen.

“What is it?”, Tony asked with a sigh that tried to sound annoyed, but was actually just tired. Even though Happy knew Tony cared deeply about the people in his life, despite of his constant attempts to hide it, this time Tony was actually _showing_ he cared, which was rare enough for him to feel like he shouldn’t pass up this opportunity of sharing his thoughts.

“Peter”, Happy explained, fidgeting with the phone in his hand. It felt heavier than it should have. He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes as he spoke. “He called me six times after the explosion. I didn’t pick up because I thought it was one of his annoying friends, so he left me some voicemails”.

This was enough to catch Tony’s interest, making him finally stand up from his seat and approach Happy, hand in his pockets. Happy didn’t notice how unsteady Tony’s legs seemed to be, or how his hands were shaking. Tony thanked a god he didn’t believe in for having his sunglasses on him, even though it was nighttime. This way, Happy wouldn’t be able to see the raw emotion coursing through his exhausted eyes.

“Go on”, he instructed with curiosity.

“They were voicemails asking for my help”, Happy sighed with clear guilt in his voice. “Kid was there, lying on the ground, all battered and bleeding and in pain, but he kept calling me, asking for help. And I didn’t pick up”.

There was a small pause in which Happy wanted to say more, but found that he couldn’t. There was nothing else to be said. He had failed Peter and that was it. It took a while for Tony to finally respond.

“This isn’t on you”, he said in a serious, sincere tone, and Happy shook his head with a humorless smile, disagreeing.

“I know this isn’t on me”, he looked up at his boss. “But it still feels bad to hear the kid like that, in pain and dying, knowing that I could have… helped him sooner”, he shrugged.

Tony nodded his head once, solemnly, acknowledging Happy’s reasons for feeling guilty. He felt guilty enough himself. Maybe he should have trusted Peter better. Taking his suit away was meant to teach him a lesson, but Tony should have realized that Peter was as stubborn as a mule and that he wouldn’t simply give up on getting himself in danger’s path if that meant he would be able to save lives. Peter was a _superhero_. And Tony had deprived him of his protection. And now Happy was feeling bad for something that wasn’t his fault, and the fact that Happy was feeling bad was on Tony’s bill as well.

“Stop it”, Happy finally sighed, catching Tony’s attention again.

“What?”, Tony asked, turning his head towards his friend.

“This isn’t on you, either”, Happy explained, not really looking at Tony. “The kid should have known it would be stupid to do something like that without calling for help. He could have gotten hurt even if he had been wearing your stupid suit”. Happy stared blankly at his own feet for a few more moments before his eyes widened in a sudden epiphany, face growing paler. “Oh, shit”.

“What’s wrong?”, Tony frowned, concern overwhelming him and making his heart pick up the pace again. Maybe coffee hadn’t been the best souvenir to ask and consume directly after experiencing a panic attack. It had taken him long enough to recompose himself and get out of that bathroom, he didn’t want to have to go back there again.

“His friend”, Happy explained, baffled, guilty look never leaving his face. “He called me. And I hung up on him. He was probably trying to tell me that Peter needed help”.

Tony wanted to say something that could comfort Happy, but words failed him and he didn’t really feel like he would make a good comforter on that moment. His heart was still racing and his palms were still sweating, after all. Just as Tony was beginning to wonder about what he could possibly tell Happy as a response without sounding like a complete asshole (which was his specialty), a doctor appeared at the entrance of the waiting room, looking tired and confused. She was holding a chart and frowned at the name in it, looking up at Tony and Happy, who were the only two people at the waiting room.

“John… Doe?”, the doctor asked, hesitant and clearly confused.

“That’s us”, Happy announced, sparing Tony a quick glance before standing up and walking towards the doctor. The billionaire followed him closely, trying not to display how anxious he was feeling.

“Right”, the doctor eyed them with suspicion, probably recognizing Tony. She stared intensively at him as if trying to figure out if he was who she thought he was.

“How is he?”, Tony asked, crossing his arms above his chest and urging the woman to speak.

“The surgery was successful”, the doctor explained, shaking her head briefly as if trying to wake up from some trance. She crossed her arms above her own chest, subconsciously mimicking Tony’s posture. “He’s expected to make a full recovery. The shrapnel”, Tony winced, “was completely removed and it miraculously didn’t hit any major organs or arteries, so he shouldn’t experience any complications. The kid got lucky. Actually, he seems to be healing _faster_ than he should. I’ve never seen something like it”.

“Oh, it’s just his… strong immune system. It runs in the family”, Tony waved a hand off, aware of how bullshit that sounded. He understood why Happy had brought Peter to the farthest hospital possible given Peter’s state, and why he had signed him in as a John Doe. He was trying his best to preserve Peter’s secret identity and not raise public suspicion as to what had happened. The least Tony could do was to play into that game.

“He’s your son?”, the doctor asked, raising a surprised and probably suspicious eyebrow.

“Yeah, something like that”, Tony nodded, not meeting the woman’s eyes and ignoring the way Happy was staring at him. “Can we see him now?”

“Well”, the doctor hesitated for a few seconds, frowning in confusion. “He’s sedated and not expected to wake up until tomorrow morning. But I suppose you can see him”.

“Splendid”, Tony said, trying his best to sound his usual self. He forced out a smile that probably looked unnatural, but when had his smiles ever looked natural, anyway? “What was your name again?”

“Janet”, the doctor said, clearly confused by Tony’s behavior and possibly a little suspicious about him being _the_ Tony Stark.

“That’s a nice name. It suits you”, he winked, hoping that the fake display would serve to distract Janet from other questions such as why Tony had registered his so-called son as a John Doe and why he wickedly resembled a famous super hero billionaire. “We should get going”, Tony tapped Happy on the arm with two fingers, already walking off and leaving the confused doctor behind. Happy immediately followed him, only managing to take a few steps before stopping on his tracks and turning back to face the doctor.

“Where is he again?”, he asked, giving her an embarrassed look.

“Room 616”, she said, still staring at Tony, who had just disappeared outside the waiting room, heading to the hospital’s elevator aimlessly as he tried his best to shove his guilt to the side just for the time being. He could deal with his overwhelming feelings of anxiety and remorse later, when Peter was no longer lying in a hospital bed because of him.

 

 

As soon as Peter’ consciousness returned, he noticed two things.

One, there was a dull, throbbing pain on his abdomen. Two, everything was too bright and the smell in the room was too intense for him to be able to focus on anything else. He groaned, blinking his eyes open and immediately regretting the decision, for a sharp, bright light sent a stab through his brain and a whine past his lips. He shifted on the bed, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. Just as he was about to try and sit up, a hand pressed his shoulder and pushed him back against the soft mattress. Peter blinked several times until his unfocused eyes adjusted better to the bright room and he could make out, more or less, who was it standing beside him.

“Mr. Stark?”, Peter attempted to say, but his throat was dry and his voice refused to come out. He ended up letting out a wheezing sound that was followed by a rattling cough, and the abrupt movement made a searing pain explode in his abdomen.

“Hey, easy, easy kiddo”, Tony said, grabbing a cup of water and aiding Peter in drinking it. The boy drank the water greedily, the cool liquid smoothing the itch in his throat, but before he could drink the whole glass up, Tony pulled the cup away. “You don’t want to drink too much at once or you’ll end up getting sick all over my shoes. And they’re kind of expensive”, he explained sarcastically, upon hearing Peter’s displeased whine.

“W-what happened?”, Peter managed to croak out after a few attempts at talking. He hated how weak and vulnerable his own voice sounded, but what he hated the most was not knowing what was happening to him.

“What do you remember?”, Tony raised an eyebrow at him, but Peter couldn’t quite see his eyes beneath the sunglasses. Why was he wearing sunglasses inside a hospital, anyway? He tried his best to remember anything, but his last memory involved May dropping him on Liz’s house for Homecoming. Everything had been fine until then.

“I… I can’t…”, Peter groaned, hating the feeling of being left out of his own memories. He wanted to rub his hands on his face in frustration, but found his arms to be too heavy for that.

“That’s expectable”, Tony shrugged, sitting back down at a chair beside Peter’s bed. “You had a pretty nasty concussion. It should all come back to you once your brain recovers”.

“Mr. Stark…”, Peter whined again, sounding childish and weak. He needed to know what happened. He needed to know why he was in this room, which seemed to be a hospital room, given the horrible smell of disinfectant and hand sanitizer. He needed to know where was Liz, and where was Ned, and where was May. Had he been in an accident on his way to Homecoming? Was Liz ok? Had the school been attacked during the ball? Were his friends ok? Did May know where he was? Was she worried? What had happened to him? Was he gravely injured? Was he under the risk of dying and leaving the people of Queens without any protector?

“Hey, kid, just breathe, ok?”, Tony instructed, placing a comforting hand on Peter’s forearm. The display of sympathy was so unusual for someone like Mr. Stark, especially when regarding Peter, that this was enough to give him something to focus on, a reason for him to try and calm down. He hadn’t even noticed he was on the verge of hyperventilation until Tony pointed it out. “C’mon, that’s it. Deep breaths. A panic attack is the last thing you need right now”, Tony said reassuringly.

“Please…”, Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away. It took panic for him to realize that his senses were receiving too much information at once, and it was hard to focus on anything other than the bright light and the sharp smell. If there were tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, Peter didn’t notice, too overwhelmed by the sensory overload he was experiencing. His skin felt hot and tingly, but he couldn’t really move his heavy arms.

“What is it? Are you in pain?”, Tony asked, not understanding what Peter needed. Seeing such a strong kid vulnerable like that was breaking what was left of his heart, especially because he was the one responsible for putting Peter in that bed.

“Lights”, Peter groaned through gritted teeth. His eyes were still squeezed shut. “Too bright”.

Tony frowned, worried. The room was barely lit, only a weak lamp glowing on the wall farthest away from Peter’s bed.

“Peter, the lights are on the lowest setting”, Tony explained, not even realizing that he had used Peter’s name, rather than calling him kid or any other stupid nickname he had come up with for him. Peter let out a sound that Tony didn’t want to define as a sob.

“Please”, he whimpered, and Tony let out a helpless sigh. This was the least he could do for the kid after everything that had happened. He stood up and turned the lights in the room off altogether. They were enveloped in complete darkness.

Tony hated the darkness. Not because of a childish fear or a natural instinct, but because it reminded him of Afghanistan. Ever since he managed to escape that hell, Tony had made sure he was always enveloped by light. Whether it was the bluish tinge of the display on the Iron Man suit or literal holophotes, Tony had promised himself never to be enveloped in darkness again. And yet, here he was, in an absolutely dark hospital room. The only source of light that his desperate eyes could make off was the dim, barely noticeable streak coming from beneath the closed door of the room. It wasn’t enough to get him rid of his anxiousness, but it was enough to reassure him, if only a little bit. Hempstead. New York. United States. Earth. Hempstead. New York. United States. Earth. He kept repeating that as a mantra, only to make sure that he wasn’t back in Afghanistan. He wasn’t really sure his lousy heart would survive a second attack in the span of two hours, especially after he drank the damn coffee.

“Thank you”, Peter breathed out at the absence of light, his stiff members finally relaxing and his chest falling and rising heavily with obvious relief. “Thank you, Mr. Stark”.

“Don’t mention it, kid”, Tony said, trying his best to sound as neutral as possible. God forbid this young teen who was still in high school from knowing that Tony Stark felt concern over him. He would think too much of himself if he knew.

“What happened?”, Peter tried again, sounding a bit calmer than before, even though his voice was still shaky. “Are Liz and Ned ok? Does May know where I am?”

“Ok, let me stop you there”, Tony interrupted before Peter could start an inquiry and get himself all freaked out again. He shifted on his seat, noticing that Peter’s eyes had opened again and that he was squinting at him, as if the room was still too bright for his liking. “Whoever it is you mentioned is ok, no one got hurt. You’re in a hospital right now, as far away from your neighborhood as we could bring you at the time. May doesn’t know that you’re here, so don’t worry. She has no clue you’re Spider Boy”, he added, teasing.

“Spider _Man_ ”, Peter corrected weakly, just as Tony expected he would.

“Whatever you say, kid. In summary, you don’t have to worry about any of that just now. Just focus on getting better so Happy can drive you home and you and I can have a serious talk about _self-preservation_ ”, Tony said, mentally scoffing at himself for talking of self-preservation to Peter. Who was he to talk about self-preservation to _anyone_? “Basically what happened was that you found out who the Vulture was and decided to go after him with no backup, no suit and apparently, no _brains_ either. You got hit in the explosion of his wings and Happy found you just in time to save your irresponsible ass”. Tony ended up sounding harsher than he had first intended, but who could blame him for that? This kid was nearly giving him a heart attack because he couldn’t keep his damn nose away from other people’s business. He could have _died_ , for god’s sake.

Peter took his time to take in what Tony was telling him. Memories rushed back into his head as he acknowledged his words, and suddenly everything made perfect sense. He could remember everything, the talk with Liz's dad in the car, chasing the vulture, fighting with him, saving Mr. Stark’s stuff. He tried to sit up again, ignoring his throbbing wounds.

“ _Jesus_ , kid, what is the matter with you?”, Tony snapped when he saw Peter attempting to get up again, pushing him against the mattress once more and keeping his hand on his shoulder to make sure that Peter would stay still. “Did you listen to anything I just told you? You’re in a hospital bed, recovering from a surgery to remove the…”, he found himself stuck, not being able to say the world. He couldn’t say _the shrapnel_ , not without risking losing his shit again, this time in front of Peter. He wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability. “Just lie still and get better or I’ll call in a nurse to sedate the hell out of you before you can hurt yourself further”, he threatened, giving Peter a warning glare.

“But Mr. Toomes!”, Peter exclaimed, frustrated, trying to wiggle his shoulder away from Tony’s firm grip. “ _He_ is the Vulture! Where is he?”

“He’s been taken in and I made sure that he won’t be released under _any_ circumstances”, Tony reassured, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. Peter stared up at him with parted, surprised lips and wide eyes that made him look much younger than he actually was. “Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. Just lie back and enjoy your stay”.

“But May”, Peter shook his head, clearly upset. “What am I going to tell her? Actually, what time is it? How long have I been here?”

“Kid, I’m serious, calm down or I’ll have you sedated”, Tony raised his eyebrow at Peter. “It’s almost morning right now. Actually, you woke up much sooner than expected, which I’ll attribute to your weird… spider metabolism”, he gesticulated vaguely. “This also means that you’ll probably heal yourself quicker, which is good news. If you want, I can contact your aunt and tell her you’ve been called in for an emergency at Stark Industries or something. Just don’t freak out over that right now, ok? Because if you freak out then I’ll freak out and letting _anyone_ see me freak out isn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world”, Tony scoffed. Peter still looked uncertain and anxious, to which Tony sighed. “Look, I won’t let her find out you’re Spider Kid, ok? Your identity is safe. I’ll come up with some excuse”.

“Ok”, Peter nodded, catching up with his breathing and finally looking like he was fully relaxed. “Ok. Thank you, Mr. Stark”, Peter sighed in relief. There was a small pause, and then: “It’s Spider _Man_ ”.

“Whatever, Spider Guy”, Tony rolled his eyes. Because of his sunglasses, Peter wasn’t able to see the hidden affection that accompanied the gesture. “Just get yourself some sleep now, ok? You shouldn’t be stressing yourself this much right after surgery”.

“Right”, Peter nodded, swallowing dry and staring up at the ceiling above him. A few seconds passed in complete silence, only the barely distinguishable tap-tap-tap of Tony’s fingers on his phone screen filling the room. But Peter couldn’t keep it off any longer. The absence of light felt great, but there was still something bothering him. “Uh, Mr. Stark, is there a way you could do something about the smell?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, looking up from the glowing screen (which was a blissful comfort in the absolute darkness).

“I took a shower before I came here”, Tony said, trying to mask his concern with humor. The joke was lame, but at least it made Peter give him a tiny laugh.

“No, not that. It’s the… disinfectant smell”, Peter explained, sounding slightly embarrassed. “It’s burning my nose”.

“I don’t smell it”, Tony frowned, leaning forward on his chair and actually taking a sniff to see if he could find whatever was bothering Peter.

“It’s probably nothing”, Peter shrugged, not looking at Tony. “It must be because of my spider senses or something”.

“Your _spider senses_?”, Tony couldn’t help but to raise his eyebrows and give Peter an incredulous laugh, assuming that he was joking. But upon noticing Peter’s obvious look of embarrassment, he retreated, crossing his legs and leaning back on the chair, doing his best to look casual. They could talk about these “spider senses” in another opportunity, when Peter wasn’t lying injured in a hospital bed. “Fine, I’ll see if there’s anything the staff can do about it”.

“Thank you”, Peter sighed, still staring at the ceiling.

“Try to get some sleep, kid. It’s past your bedtime”, Tony instructed, going back to tapping on his phone and not looking at Peter’s pitifully small form under the bed sheets. He tried not to think about how vulnerable Peter sounded, or looked, and just how awful he must be feeling. Tony could relate to being struck by shrapnel, operated and then waking up with no idea of where he was and what had happened. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this was his fault, that this was on him. How would he even be able to look at Peter once he was better and more lucid? How would he be able to look into the kid’s eyes without knowing that all the pain in them had been inflicted on him because of one of Tony’s many mistakes?

Why couldn’t he keep himself from _committing_ mistakes against his loved ones over and over again?

“Mr. Stark?”, Peter asked, voice sluggish and tired, after several minutes of silence passed. Tony had assumed he had already gone back to sleep, but he was clearly wrong. However, the kid _did_ sound like he was on the verge of drifting off.

“Yeah?”, Tony asked, feigning indifference. If Peter knew he cared, that would only make things worse. That would only make Tony even more vulnerable.

“Why…”, Peter hesitated, sounding unsure as to whether he should continue or not. “Never mind”, he ended up saying, frustrated.

“Spit it out, kid”, Tony encouraged, sounding impatient. He never stopped tapping on his phone as they spoke, and he never stared up at Peter on the bed. The chair he was sat on was uncomfortable and too hard, but Tony still crossed his legs in order to look as nonchalant as he could.

“I wanted to ask why you’re here”, Peter settled for saying after a few moments of silent ponderation. Tony finally stopped moving his thumbs across his phone screen, not sure of what he should tell Peter.

What _did_ Peter want to hear? Tony couldn’t simply tell him that he cared about him, that this weird kid from Queens who thought it would be a good idea to dress terribly and beat up some bad guys had somehow managed to capture Tony Stark’s affection, of all people. He couldn’t tell him that as soon as Happy called to tell him what had happened, he had dropped every single thing he had been doing and had actually taken an Iron Man suit to fly his way to the hospital. He couldn’t tell him that he had a panic attack on a hospital bathroom because Peter had been hit by shrapnel. He couldn’t tell him about the guilt he was feeling, and the anxiety, and the mind numbing fear of having this kid die on him, just one of the many kids in the world who died because of his mistakes. Tony couldn’t say that. But he couldn’t give Peter a dismissing response, either, not with the kid so open and vulnerable lying injured in a hospital bed.

Peter wanted comfort, but Tony couldn’t give it to him. He just couldn’t. This was what he always did. He always hid behind his money, and his brains, and his apparent indifference, because it was better than showing the things he felt to people he cared about, it was better than giving his enemies the exact weapons they needed to destroy him and tear his heart apart. Who knew when a friend could become a foe?

This had happened with Obie. This had happened with Steve. Quite literally, in both cases. He could still remember Obie smiling down wickedly at him as he removed the arc reactor from his chest and left him to die, and he could still remember Steve’s furious face as he shoved his vibranium shield in Tony’s chest plate. They had both been his friends, people he trusted, and they both had known exactly where to strike to hurt him the most. They had both gone straight for his _heart_.

He didn’t want to give Peter that sort of power.

Damn Howard for being the first person to give him trust issues.

“Just so you know, Mr. Stark”, Peter continued, when it became obvious that Tony would not be answering his question. “I don’t blame you. For this, I mean. I would have done it, with or without the Spider Man suit. I couldn’t just let this guy rob your plane and endanger people with your tech without doing anything about it”.

Tony stared up at Peter, thankful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“That was stupid of you”, Tony snapped, hating the way he ended up sounding like a scolding father. Like _his_ scolding father.

“I know”, Peter nodded, smiling sadly and turning to look at Tony, sincerity evident in his eyes. “But isn’t that what superheroes do?”

Tony wanted to say that _no_ , Peter _wasn’t_ a superhero, he was just a kid from Queens who happened to mysteriously gain special abilities. He should be at school, having fun with his friends and dating this Liz girl he kept talking about. He should be worrying about his future, about getting a job, about using his incredibly advanced brain to create things and do good from somewhere safe. He should use his intellect to be smart doing something secure, he _shouldn’t_ be recklessly throwing himself in harm’s way just to prove himself and save people. Peter should be living his life. Peter should be enjoying his youth. Peter should be being a _kid_.

But wasn’t that what Tony had been doing before Afghanistan? Wasting his life away with money, women and booze? Allowing his father’s company, _his_ company to be used as a way to sell death, pain and destruction? Hadn’t Tony wasted his life until he was forced to have a glowing hole in his chest that is capable of killing him at any given moment?

What was he supposed to tell Peter? That he should ignore these abilities he had and be selfish? Live his life? That he should have let that maniac steal dangerous technology and use it against innocent people? That he should have enjoyed his Homecoming with that girl and lived his life when he could have done something about the hijacking? Tony couldn’t _say_ that, none of that. Maybe he _was_ a hypocrite, but this was too much. He couldn’t tell Peter any of that, because had Tony been in Peter’s place, he would have done _exactly the same thing_.

Maybe Tony saw too much of himself in Peter. There was no way that was good, right?

“Get some sleep, kid”, Tony instructed. He didn’t want to speak about that subject. He didn’t want Peter to _know_.

“I mean it, Mr. Stark”, Peter insisted. “I don’t blame you. Or Happy. I did what I did because it was the only possible thing I could do”.

Tony sighed, barely audibly. He went back to tapping on his phone.

“I know, kid. I don’t blame you either”, he settled for saying. That phrase was the closest Tony could come to telling Peter everything the kid wanted to hear and everything Tony couldn’t bring himself to say. That would have to be enough. At least for the time being.

Knowing that Tony wasn’t mad at him made Peter feel more relaxed, and he finally managed to drift off into a dreamless, tired sleep.

When Peter woke up on the following morning, it was only to find Tony sleeping heavily on the chair beside his bed, sunglasses askew on his slack face and arms crossed on the top of his chest. On the opposite side of his bed was Happy, thrown on another chair in a very similar way to Tony and just as equally asleep. His feet were raised to lean on the edge of Peter’s bed in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but that indicated that he had bothered to stand watch on Peter’s bedside for the entirety of the night, just as much as Tony had.

Peter smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for the MCU fandom, so I hope it turned out ok!  
> Kudos and comments make me happy, and so does constructive criticism.  
> You can find me on tumblr as edema--ruh and on twitter as @prouvvaire.


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